


Logistics

by englishable



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:54:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21903301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/englishable/pseuds/englishable
Summary: While the notion of a vision about your friend sitting on the Sith throne is indeed disconcerting, there are several practical questions that Finn and Poe must get out of the way first.
Relationships: Rey & Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 36
Kudos: 288





	Logistics

…

They are on Ajan Kloss again when Finn finally musters the wherewithal to grab a hold of Poe’s arm and snap him around into the confidential posture of two guardians discussing a precocious, bewildering child. It is a pose they are by now both very familiar with.

“Rey told me something,” Finn says. “I wanted to hear what you think about it.”

Poe glances from Finn’s hand to his face. “Can it wait, General? We’re kind of in the middle of – ”

“She said she had a vision,” Finn does not release his grip on Poe’s arm, “of Kylo Ren on the Sith throne. She says –” his voice drops again “—she says she saw herself sitting there, too.”

Poe pulls abruptly upright as though contemplating a steep tailside dive. They stand together beneath a banyan tree whose rune-braided branches are laden with a midday forest rain; a rusted starfighter blasts away overhead and swats them both with water as the green leaves all shudder in the turbulent wind of the ship’s passing, but Poe’s expression remains flat. Finn curbs an urge to shake him.

“Did you hear me? Something’s wrong. And back there in the desert, you saw how she –”

“The _same_ throne?”

Finn stops. 

“What?”

“Have you ever taken a good look at those old pictures of the Sith throne? General Organa’s got – she had a book with a drawing in it.” Poe twists carefully out of Finn’s hold and takes a half-step backwards to raise both flattened hands in a framing gesture. His palms are approximately three feet apart. “The seat’s about this big, I’d guess. Maybe not even that.”

“So?”

“So you just said Rey had a vision about sitting on it with Kylo Ren.”

“And?”

“And I’m telling you that doesn’t make any sense. Think about it. To get two people on that thing at once, you’d have to be straddling their shoulders. Or you’d – ”

The thought occurs to them both at the same time – Rey, lounged luxuriously across the lap of Supreme Leader Kylo Ren – and their expressions screw sideways into the same mortified intrigue. Finn covers his face as though against a splash of acid.

“Dude, no. I cannot believe we’re having this discussion. This is not the discussion I came over here to have with you.”

“All I’m saying,” Poe’s raised hands pivot into an abdicating defense, “is that if Palpatine or Ren or whoever the hell else we’re dealing with here wanted to stick some sick vision like that in Rey’s head, they should’ve at least put a half-assed effort into making it believable. That’s all I meant, okay?” He puts his hands on Finn’s shoulders. “Come on. Rey knows herself better than that.”

“Right.” Finn nods. “Right.”

…

The X-wing swings through the forest canopy, a failing engine causing it to teeter on the wind like a bird, and Finn is already running towards it when it bangs into a hard landing. A pale, familiar fist knocks for assistance against the interior of the ship’s silt-stained cockpit and Poe scrambles up a ladder to reach her first. Finn clambers up just after him so that they are both there when the cockpit folds back.

They look down into it together.

Rey sits there, her lap mostly occupied by the slouched and somewhat cramped form of a huge man dressed in black. One of his legs is bent at an unnatural angle. He raises an exhausted hand, an act that seems to make him smile even as he sucks air through his teeth at the pain, and he speaks in a voice it takes Finn only an instant to recognize.

“Traitor,” he says, in greeting. “Commander Dameron.”

Rey tries gamely to lift the man upwards into their arms. One of her bloodied hands staunches a wound at his side, but there is a light and inscrutable trace of small, stroking red fingerprints along the man’s left ear.

“Here,” Rey says, “help me get him out. I fixed the punctured lung, but he’s got a bad – this is Ben Solo, by the way, he – what exactly are you two staring at?”

…


End file.
